


Cultivation

by lightningwaltz



Category: Messiah Project - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 07:06:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9709808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightningwaltz/pseuds/lightningwaltz
Summary: Five times Kamikita and Kuroko kissed (and one time they didn't.)[SPOILERS FOR AKATSUKI NO TOKI/THE LATEST STAGE PLAY! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!]





	

**Author's Note:**

> Second warning that this has SPOILERS FOR AKATSUKI NO TOKI. 
> 
> ...
> 
> Okay, I'm going to assume you want to be here after this point.
> 
> Among many, many other emotions, hearing about kiranosaurusrex's experience seeing Akatsuki no Toki revived so many of my Kamikita/Kuroko feelings. And then multiplied it tenfold because oh my good _gracious_ Kuroko's past. D: This may very well be AU territory but this plot bunny sunk its teeth in and would not let go so here we are. A fic that spans well over a decade in six vignettes, hahaha.

There's a fertile, electric area in the space between laughter and speech. Momose has always been good at identifying it, and capitalizing on it. Wonderful things have a way of growing if you take the time to cultivate them.

"I think we should kiss." 

Kamikita's smile doesn't fade. If anything, it starts to look like a carving etched into stone. Neither time nor the elements will make it fade away. Maybe he could become a statue entitled Young Man Stunned by a Sudden Proposition.

"Excuse me?" Kamikita doesnt sound pissed off, at least. It reminds Momose of the way Kamikita will tilt his head and kind of shrug when someone less skilled from their cohort trash talks him. Most of them back down from that look, but not Momose. 

He puts his hands on Kamikita's shoulders and backs him into the wall. This hallway is poorly lit, fastidiously clean (why else would Momose like being out here?), and no one will be coming this way any time soon. Everyone else has long since retired for the night. So many nights seem to end this way, with their fellow kouhai clumping together in conversation after dinner, and then peeling away to go to bed. One by one by one. Until there's just the two of them, joking, staring at each other, and finding excuses to stay in the same place. 

This is the best excuse yet. 

"You heard me." 

They're the same height, or near enough that it makes no difference. It's very, very easy to lean his face in. He smells spearmint on Kamikita's breath.

"But why?" 

He sounds genuinely startled. As though Kamikita hadn't stood out during the very first assembly of their cohort. As if Momose hadn't looked through the sea of straight-backed, uniform clad, serious-faced men and found himself arrested by Kamikita. As if he hadn't thought; _Him. That one. I know I want him._

But he doesn't say that.

"They're pairing all of us up tomorrow, yeah? We'll probably be each other's messiah." He moves in closer, until their bodies are pressed together, and Kamikita's hands land on Momose's hips. "We do well together in the mock battles. It makes sense. I've _always_ thought we should kiss."

Kamikita's lips feels even better than they look, and they stay there against that wall for what seems like hours. It seems like the blink of an eye.

And the next day they end up with entirely different people as their messiah. 

* 

Kamikita and Ichijima are both there when they bring Momose in for questioning. The four of them went out together, after all, and now they must explain why one did not return. 

Blood doesn't show up well on the Sakura uniform, but there's bright splotches of it all over Momose's skin. There's thick clumps of it in his hair. Kamikita thinks there might even be some in his eyes, but maybe that's just red from crying. 

"So he was a terrorist." Their commander says. "Did he succeed in any aspect of his mission?" 

A brief pause, as they all wait for Momose to speak. 

"No, he did not." Ichijima's voice is deceptively mild. But he always has a way of making things sound like the absolute truth. Kamikita had been enraptured by it their first few months together.

"And you're absolutely certain he's dead?"

"Oh yes!" Momose suddenly pipes up. "He's quite dead!"

"How can you be sure?" A somewhat fair question. No one brought the body back.

"Bludgeoning is a pretty effective execution method, right? But I also checked his pulse." 

The commander and Ichijima don't flinch. For a while it seems like they're not even blinking. Kamikita emulates that, outwardly, but he'll always remember entering that room and being pummeled by the scent of blood and death. Momose standing over a body, his heavy gun streaked with red.

_I didn't have enough bullets. I had to do it this way._

They're dismissed after that. Momose almost sprints down the hallway, vanishing into his room. 

"They just let him report and go?" 

If Ichijima is troubled, it will be a long time before he shares that with Kamikita. "It wouldn't be fair to hold him there, making him relive all that into eternity, right?" 

Ichijima isn't wrong, but Kamikita isn't sure he's fully _right_ either. There are several different things he could do here. He eventually decides to go to Momose's room. The door is unlocked, as though dealing with that was too much of a burden. 

Momose is laying on his back in his messiah's bed, staring at nothing, still covered in the gore of the day. 

"Come on," Kamikita says. First he tugs at Momose's arms. Then he scoops him up, dumps him on his feet, and leads him to the showers. Momose isn't resisting, and there's something terrifying about that. 

He turns on the water in one stall, and guides Momose in. Clothes and all. 

First there's silence, other than droplets hitting tile. And then Momose shrieks. 

"Shit shit _shit_! It's cold!"

"Exactly!" Suddenly Kamikita is yelling. Because he's learned far more today than he ever wanted to know. He's realized that they're all still so young, and foolish, and now the first of their cohort is dead. He was never their friend at all. "Because you need to wake up! _You're_ still alive!" 

Momose shivers. The blood sliding down his skin and coat looks like watercolor paint. He pulls Kamikita in, tugging at him with hands that killed one of their own today. Hands that killed his own messiah. For a few horrifying moments, Kamikita thinks that the blood isn't washing of Momose's nails. Then he realizes it's just sparkly nail polish that catches the light and blinds him. 

And they have their second kiss, right there. Kamikita clings to the plastic shower curtain until one of the rungs gives way and clatters to the ground. Momose is holding the side of his face, probably leaving reddened fingerprints on his cheeks. But it doesn't matter. They kiss long after the water has cleaned their skin, so he'll never know for sure.

* 

Momose thinks Kamikita and Ichijima are a mystery. 

In public, they never argue, never bicker, never disagree. They seem in accord even on trivial things. Watching them in combat is like watching two dancers at the height of their craft. It's too good to be true. Which means one will probably kill the other during their upcoming graduation mission. 

Despite this, Kamikita is spending more and more time in Momose's room. In Momose's bed. They don't fuck. They barely even touch, in fact. But he stealthily starts a timer on his phone whenever Kamikita knocks. Minutes have been creeping into hours. Ichijima never comes looking for Kamikita.

They never talk about why Kamikita is running from his messiah. Maybe this is the price Momose has to pay for companionship. Dull curiosity isn't too bad. They just lie there, and talk about trivial things. They watch stupid videos on their phones, and sometimes they literally sleep together. 

But the day comes when they start touching, first with trepidation and then with longing. Clothes come off, and fingers roam and and scratch and stroke. But there's no kissing. Not on the neck, or the shoulder, and certainly not on the lips. They shouldn't be doing this.

They should have done this years ago.

When Momose is inside Kamikita- seeking animal, simplistic pleasure- he moans out an entirely different name. And in that awful, awful moment it's like he's been tossed into freezing water again. Maybe he's gone and murdered this strange, nameless thing that's always existed between them, too.

"It's okay. Of course you still think about him." Kamikita reaches up, and strokes the side of his face. He sounds sincere and somehow _that_ is the thing that makes Momose want to bawl, or kick something. Instead, he lowers his face, kisses Kamikita hard, and doesn't let another word escape. 

* 

Graduation wrecks Ichijima's knee, and Kamikita's shoulder. The latter recovers in full, but the former does not. No one says it, but everyone thinks the light in their eyes has dimmed, too. Kamikita won't remember how he said goodbye to Momose. Just that it had to have happened.

Kamikita goes and dutifully freezes in Russia for the better part of a decade. A series of promotions forces his return to headquarters. And to an old relationship.

"They're calling you Kuroko, now?" 

"That's right, Kamikita-san."

Momose- Kuroko- makes a frantic nod, and gives Kamikita a peck on the lips. It's tight-lipped, quick, more like a push than anything else. It gives nothing away, and Kuroko scurries off, saying he needs to dust something.

* 

Organizations always have the soul of their highest commanders, and Ichijima's blueprint is all over Sakura. Efficient, distant, brutal expedience valued over long-term goals. Kamikita is not out to make waves, but maybe he can lay his own kind of groundwork. Most nights end with him drinking wine, rereading his files on the newest recruits, and considering how to operationalize a simple, but radical plan; cadets can still have a messiah, but they should also function as tight-knit groups of four or six. 

There were problems with that, though. He's seen the statistics, and lived the life of a cadet. Quite a few of these recruits will die or desert (and subsequently die.) It doesn't matter how many notes he has on stamina, and hacking, and marksmanship. One stray bullet, one double agent, and the equilibrium collapses. 

Kuroko does a lot of his cleaning at this hour. For a while, Kamikita watches the rhythmic slide of the broom. 

"Have you ever thought about how we both have to clean up the things no one wants to see?" 

That earns him a hard, but not unfriendly stare. A few seconds too late, Kuroko smiles. He saunters over and drinks Kamikita's wine straight from the bottle. He slams it down on the desk, and lets out a hearty sigh. 

"You're welcome." Laughter feels so foreign in Kamikita's throat. 

"You should come to my room, Kamikita-san," Kuroko trills, poking him in the shoulder. Again and again. He's said this quite a few times by now, but Kamikita has been shrugging it off. 

"Why? What's there?"

"My bed." 

Kamikita glances at his wine class. It's empty. The files on his desk aren't changing any time soon and, if he's honest with himself, he knows all the kouhai's partnerships already. He decides to walk away from it all for a little while. He decides to follow Kuroko.

After that first strange day, Kuroko has thawed precipitously. He's friendly, now, but there's something brittle about him even when they fall onto the futon together. His laughter is a shield, his flamboyance is a weapon, and his kisses taste like nothing. 

They're mostly undressed when Kamikita's phone rings. 

"Sorry, I have to answer that." He clicks it on but stays in bed, and is surprised when Kuroko wraps his arms around Kamikita's torso. There's no emergency. Just someone keeping him informed about weather conditions in Russia (no changes whatsoever.)

"Mmm, Kamikita-san." Kuroko nuzzles the back of his neck.

"Why do you emphasize the honorific these days?" 

Kuroko rolls him onto his back, clambers on top of him, and stares down. It feels so much like their exercises as cadets that muscle memory nearly takes over. He gets control of himself (throwing Kuroko to the ground would _not_ be a good idea.) 

"Well?"

"I like to say it because I always knew you should be a leader like this. And now you are, Kamikita-san." 

"I thought you always knew we should _kiss_." He pulls the bandanna out of Kuroko's hair and ruffles it a bit. "Now you're telling me you saw glory in my future, too?"

"And also! Also..." Kuroko rambles on, as though Kamikita hadn't said anything. "All these years I thought... If I ever saw you again, I'd make sure to get your name right." 

And with that one sentence, Kamikita understands everything. And when they kiss, it's like having his oldest friend back. 

*

When they get the news about Mamiya, Kamikita can't turn to look at Kuroko. He's expecting some sort of outburst. He'd cried after that cohort's first successful mission, after all. 

Instead, when he's finally alone with his thoughts, he turns around and Kuroko isn't there. Like he became a ghost and drifted away. He goes in search of him. The remaining kouhai are hours away, still, and there's nothing him can do for them at this exact moment. 

Kamikita finds Kuroko in the kitchen, pulling out pots and pans and bins of flour. 

"Do we have a blow torch?"

"What?" 

"For creme brulee? I need to bake something, and I also need to _light something on fire._ "

"Kuroko... Momose." 

Kamikita grabs those frantic hands and holds them until he can trust that they're still. Then he grabs the back of Momose's head and presses their foreheads together. There are no words. There have never been adequate words for this underworld they inhabit. There's only plans that go awry, action, and the rare moments of peace. 

"I'm here," he says. 

"You were never my messiah," Momose says, and Kamikita can hear him swallowing. "I think you're something better than that."


End file.
